We've Got Tonight
by zashikabuta06
Summary: Inspired by Bruno Mars' "When I Was Your Man" (change pronouns appropriately). Events that lead to Quinntana hook-up, from Santana's POV. One-shot. Quinntana, with mentions of Brittana and Bram.


_Author's Note: I am still having a Quinntana hangover after the last Glee episode, "I Do." We have 8 episodes (by my count) left in Season 4. I hope that Glee will continue to improve (in my opinion) as it finishes out the season. I have been hearing this song, "When I Was Your Man," on the radio on constant rotation. I like Bruno Mars and I liked the melody. However, it wasn't until this episode that I felt the lyrics fit exactly how Santana must be feeling, whenever she sees Brittany with Sam. Change the pronouns appropriately, imagine Santana singing wistfully, as she sees Bram together at this wedding, and how it leads to the Quinntana hook-up. One-shot. Santana's POV. Quinntana with mentions of Brittana, and Bram. Rated M. _

When I Was Your Man - Bruno Mars

Same bed but it feels

just a little bit bigger now

Our song on the radio

but it don't sound the same

When our friends talk about you

all it does is just tear me down

'Cause my heart breaks a little

when I hear your name

It all just sounds like oooooh…

Mmm too young, too dumb, to realize

That I should have bought you flowers

And held your hand

Shoulda gave you all my hours

when I had the chance

Take you to every party

'Cause all you wanted to do was dance

Now, my baby's dancing

But she's dancing with another man

My pride, my ego, my needs,

and my selfish ways

Caused a good strong woman

like you to walk out my life

Now, I never

never get to clean up

the mess I made ohh…

And it haunts me

every time I close my eyes

It all just sounds like oooooh…

Mmm too young, too dumb, to realize

That I should have bought you flowers

And held your hand

Shoulda gave you all my hours

when I had the chance

Take you to every party

'Cause all you wanted to do was dance

Now, my baby's dancing

But she's dancing with another man

Although it hurts, I'll be the first

to say that I was wrong

Oh, I know I'm probably much too late

To try and apologize for my mistakes

But I just want you to know

I hope he buys you flowers

I hope he holds your hand

Give you all his hours

when he has the chance

Take you to every party

'Cause I remember

how much you loved to dance

Do all the things

I should have done

When I was your man

Do all the things

I should have done

When I was your man

I knew coming to this wedding was a huge mistake. All I had to do was look at you with Sam, sitting in the 3rd pew. I could see his arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you closer into him. I closed my eyes and tried to block it all out. As if closing my eyes could stop everything from coming back. As if I could ever block you out.

I follow Quinn into the pew she has apparently picked for us to sit in. I just follow along and sidle up next to her. I cannot stop staring at you; even from behind, looking at your updo, with its intricate braid. I wonder who did your hair for the wedding because that was something I would always do. I loved combing your long, flaxen, straight hair. It was so different from mine and I always wished my hair was like yours. You used to tell me that you wished you had hair like mine.

As if on cue, you and Sam turn around, give me a warm smiles, and wave at me. We could always sense when the other was in the room, without even seeing each other. I guess that's what happens after you know someone as long as we have known each other. I give you back the best, most sincere smile I could muster and you believe it, because you look at me just a second longer, before you turn back to Sam.

I cannot believe I am back in the godforsaken town again. I had just gotten to New York City and was ready to leave all of this in the past. It was this damn wedding that I completely forgot about. I wasn't even gone for a whole month. But we all promised to be back for Mr. Schue & Miss Pillsbury's wedding when we were home for Thanksgiving. As much as I protested, the only way to shut Hummelberry up was to come. If I had to come, that meant Quinn had to come too, no excuses. So, here we all were, sitting in one of the two churches in Lima, waiting for the wedding to start. I hadn't seen Kurt or Rachel, so I was with Quinn.

I thought about the last wedding I had been to, the Hummel-Hudson nuptials, over at Lima Presbyterian Church across town. I will never understand how we ended up as bridesmaids. Performing was one thing; standing up for two adults I barely knew was another thing all together. Kurt was the wedding planner and I guess we were all a part of his plan. I recall the ceremony- how we danced up the aisle, singing Bruno Mars' "Marry You," whilst twirling the ribbons, taking our places next to Carole Hudson, soon-to-be Hummel. You were dozing off and I had to nudge you awake. I remember wishing and hoping, that maybe someday, it would be the two of us exchanging wedding vows. That wedding felt like eons ago. Now, we were at St. John the Evangelist Church, waiting for the Wemma nuptials to begin.

I had come to this church every Sunday as a child, singing in the choir, until high school happened. I told my mami that I was old enough to decide for myself if I wanted to be a Catholic and attend Sunday Mass. She knew she was not going to win this battle. Abuela was more stubborn and she laid a guilt trip on me every Sunday morning. I just kept ignoring her, until she eventually gave up. I would still go to Midnight Mass and on Easter Sunday because even my papi went those days. It was really because I was starting to develop feelings for girls, instead of boys. It was becoming more and more obvious to me, as I entered McKinley, my freshman year. I felt like going to Catholic Mass was a sin because being a homosexual meant I was going to hell. It made me feel guilty, kneeling in front of Jesus on the Cross, who died to save me, and here I was, thinking "unnatural" thoughts for girls. By girls, I meant that I only thought of one girl in particular. I never imagined just how awkward I would feel sitting in this church with you, the object of my affection, sitting so close, yet so far away from me. I huffed, crossed my legs, and hoped this wedding would be over fast, so I could hightail it out of here and get my drink on. Alcohol always made things better, I thought, as long I don't turn into a weepy, hysterical drunk. The last time I did that was at Berry's house party. Great, now I remember you and Sam kissing, playing Spin the Bottle. Just awesome.

Apparently, Quinn was bitter too. Something about it being Valentine's Day on top of this wedding was making her words sound terse and harsh. I agreed with her, as she handed me her compact mirror. The whole thing just had disaster written all over it. I had fucking forgot that it was Valentine's Day. This year, just like every year since I could remember, you were my Valentine. This year, you were Sam's Valentine. This year, I had no valentine.

It made me sad to remember where we were last year for Valentine's Day. It was the best Valentine's Day ever. We were together, for real, as girlfriend and girlfriend. You made me that silly playlist that I now love to listen to over and over again until I cannot stand the pain it causes. We were kissing in the halls, just like Finn and Rachel. The God Squad sang Cherish/Cherish, as my Valentine's Day gift to you. You led us to the dance floor, like you always do. I can remember being so happy, feeling so safe in your arms, as you swayed us around the dance floor. I always let you lead and I just follow; I would follow you anywhere. As the song ended and the crowd erupted in applause, you whispered to me, "Thank you. I cannot believe you did that for me." I did the only thing i could, to show you how much I love you and how much I do cherish you: I kissed you, in front of everyone. I didn't care that they were there; I didn't care anymore. All I cared about was you. The rest of the night was magical. Dancing at The Sugar Shack, singing along with all of our friends, just being with you- it was one of the best nights of my life.

And now, here I am, exactly a year removed from that night and everything was completely different. I was alone and you were with Sam. I still loved you and was completely in love with you. I knew that you loved me too but that you also had deep feelings for Sam. Maybe, you even loved him. Why does this feel like deja vu? It feels like Barty 2.0, even if it was Bram 1.0. It wouldn't surprise me, honestly. You were always so easy to give love. It was me, who had been so afraid of it. No matter what, you and I are best friends. It is what we always were to each other, before feelings happened. These are all the things I am certain of, as I sit back on this hard, wooden bench and watch you.

Next thing I know, we are at the reception of the Wemma wedding that wasn't. I am actually having fun, dancing with Quinn and Mike, until I catch you dancing with Sam. Seeing you dancing with someone else, someone other than me, feels like a punch to my gut. I physically need to steady myself, so I grab Quinn's arm, take a moment, before I lead her to the bar. It really is too easy to score alcohol in this podunk town. Quinn & I flash our horrible fake IDs, smile flirtatiously at the college student tending the bar, and he generously pours us 2 glasses of wine. I was glad that if anything good could come of this night, it was an open bar. Hey, somebody had to have a good time and drink this alcohol. I mean, it's all paid for anyway. This logical reasoning sounds great in my head and before I knew it, I had lost count of how many glasses of wine we had both had.

Quinn was droning on and on about Yale, Jodie Foster's 2nd clambake, and that young, hot English professor she was banging. I could see thru all of Quinn's bravado. I knew that she wasn't having as good of a time as she was saying. This was what it meant being Quinn's best friend or at least the way that we were friends. We always told it to each other straight, no matter what it was. Feelings were disregarded and, in fact, I enjoyed that part of our friendship. We were the only people who could be brutally honest to each other and mean it. Anyone else, we would have slapped them. Actually, over Thanksgiving we did slap each other, and it was satisfying, to say the least. All these thoughts are pushing thru my alcohol-riddled mind when I feel it. Quinn, placing a hand on my arm and telling me that I look hot tonight. I can see it on her face, hear it in her tone, and feel the way she touches me: Quinn is flirting with me. I've witnessed her do this little dance all through high school with the lot of them: Finn, Puck, and Sam. Now, she was using her charms on me. I could feel the intensity of her green eyes and hear the sincerity in her voice; Quinn meant what you said- a compliment. This was new territory for us and I just smiled, to show Q that a gladly accept the nice words. It intrigues me and I continue to listen to Quinn's recitation on the beauty of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, apparently what she is studying in hot professor's class.

At some point, we turn the drinking from wine to cocktails. Cute bartender is even handing me the cocktail shaker to shake, before he pours out some delightful concoction that was apparently made specifically for this wedding: a Wemma cocktail. Just thinking of Miss Pillsbury for a moment made me sad. She even picked out a special cocktail for her wedding reception. Mr. Schue really was an asshole. I think everyone else is dancing to Blaine and Kurt's rendition of "I Just Can't Get Enough." I see you across the dance floor, yukking it up with Sam and the rest of our friends. Seeing you dancing and having so much fun without me makes me even sadder. How did we get to this place, where I am here and you are there? Where you are with someone who gets to make you laugh like that and smile like that? I thought I was the only one who could do that. I had no right to get angry; I was the one who broke up with you, after all. Even if I told you, "This isn't a break-up," you knew and I knew that it was. I did mean it when I told you, "I will always love you the most." I still love you the most. Quinn must have seen me looking at you with forlorn eyes because she waves the cocktail in my sight of view, obscuring you with the pink drink.

"Santana, what are you doing?" she asks.

"No, I am not. I mean... I was just seeing all of our friends dance," I sheepishly answer her. I am fully expecting her to make fun of me or to at least call me out on blantly staring you. What she does, instead, surprises me. Quinn shows me concern and kindness as she turn me back towards her, clinking our martinis glasses together.

"To getting out of this shit-town and finding ourselves!" she exclaims.

I raise my glass to hers and say, "To us and to tonight."

Quinn smiles brightly, at my addition to her toast, before we both down the liquid, as if it was shot. After slamming the glasses back on the bar, to signal the next round, I look up and see you looking at me. Your eyes cut thru me and I hold your gaze for as long as you allow it. I never stop looking and you are the first one to turn away, back to Sam. I sigh and turn back to Quinn, as the bartender is pouring another batch of Wemmas.

I blink and now, I am in the middle of the dance floor, with my arm draped around Quinn's shoulders. I am grateful to have worn my stilettos tonight, so that I am the same height as Quinn. Rachel and Finn are singing "We've Got Tonight" and I find myself getting lost in the moment and in the lyrics. I sway with Quinn, holding her close, wishing I was dancing with you. I don't know if you wish I was dancing with you, instead of Sam. Quinn must have felt a shift in my body, a body that only knows you like this. It is not that dancing with Quinn is uncomfortable. I mean, if anyone knows me better than you do, it is her. It is just a new sensation. She pulls me back by the shoulders and looks deep in my brown eyes and saying, "I've never slow danced with a girl before. I think I like it." She catches me off guard with this comment, quirks her eyebrow at me, before pulling me back in her arms. I know that she knows where my mind went, where it always goes. I appreciate how she is trying to help me forget, if even for one dance, if even for one night.

My heart starts beating triple time by the time we are traipsing down the 3rd floor of this surprisingly fancy hotel. In my head somewhere, there a voice telling me slow down, to stop and think about what I am about to do. I am going into a hotel room with Lucy Quinn Fabray, not Brittany S. Pierce. Yes, she has been mercilessly flirty with me all night. Yes, I have flirted right back at her. Hey, I have a reputation to uphold and I know I am a hottest piece of ass in this joint. But there is a huge line between saying things, dancing closely, and having sex. I mean, this is where all of this is leading, right? I am about to hook-up with my other best friend. Shit.

I mean look at her. Really look at her, Santana. I can see what everyone sees: a fucking, gorgeous woman. I also know what nobody sees: a vulnerable, scared girl not that different from myself. I could stop this, stop us, before it gets more out of hand than it already has. I could grab her hands, as she pulls me into the room. I could stop my lips from crashing into hers with so much want and desire. I could stop my hands from taking off her jacket, her dress, her bra, her thong. I could stop all of this. But, I don't want to. I want this. I want Quinn, right now, in this moment. I need this for one night. It takes two to tango and she could stop me at anytime, too. But I get the feeling that she wants this as much as I do.

She reciprocates: kiss for kiss, touch for touch. Quinn is a quick study and she is eager try whatever I am doing to her. She surprises me with her movements and how turned on she is making me. I can tell she is close and it thrills me to know that I making her emit noises of pleasure. I want to taste her but I am not sure how receptive she would be to that. So, I sheath her body complete with mine, allowing her to feel my breasts press into hers, kiss her deeply, hold her hand with mine. I stop and look deep into her eyes. Her eyes are filled with lust and amazement. She looks at me with so much need for release as she bucks her hips up into me.

I want to show her that I care and that I do love her, just not in the way she deserves. But Quinn does deserve to be shown how wonderful sex can be between two people who care for each other. So, I slow things down. I want don't want her to think this is just a throwaway, drunken one-night stand. I mean, if I am her only female sexual experience ever, I want to blow her mind.

She again notices the shift in my actions, that I am not in the frenetic, break-neck speed with which we started all of this. I am waiting for her to tell me stop and that this is all a mistake. But she doesn't say any of that. Instead, she pulls my chin up and kisses me ever so gently, as if saying it's okay to keep going. We continue this dance of lips, tongues, and touches until we are both so worked up. I know she is ready and I know what to do.

I enter her slowly with my lone finger, allowing her to adjust to me. I look down at her, her eyes closed on pleasure, her fingernails pressing into my back.

"You okay?" I ask her. I don't want to hurt her or do something she doesn't want.

She opens her eyes and answers breathlessly, "Fuck, Santana, you feel so good."

With that, I begin to move: my finger, my hand, my whole body. I rock into her, feeling Quinn rise up to meet me. Again, I am surprised at her actions, wondering if I really am the first girl she has ever been with. Then, I am reminded of the day in a New York City hotel room, her telling Britts and I that she was "not into that." Well, she most certainly was right now, writhing underneath me. She comes undone with one more thrust. Quinn blooms and unfolds around my fingers like the most lovely yellow rose, with each petal falling down around us. After awhile, I slowly withdraw my hand from her and I kiss her one more time.

A few moments later, she is propped up on pillows at the head of the bed with the comforter snugly around her beautiful, naked body, taking a swig from a water bottle. I am lying at the foot of the bed, draped in a bed sheet. I am so fucking turned on: by our previous activities, knowing I just made my best friend cum, and because she looked ridiculously hot in the afterglow of sex.

"So, that is why college girls experiment." Quinn says.

"And thank god that they do," I answer her back. I can tell she about to ask about this and if it changes anything. I know that it doesn't change anything.

"This is a one-time thing." Quinn responds.

"I am not going to come with a U-Haul, if that is what you are worried about," I say, reading her mind.

She sighs in relief, knowing that we are both on the same page.

"So, what do we do now?" Q asks me. She assumes that I have experience in this type of activity. Honestly, I have only done wedding reception sex with Brittany, in my Range Rover after the double-H wedding. The surroundings of this hookup are a huge upgrade from the backseat of my car.

"Well, you can go downstairs first... (I decide to press my luck) or we can make this a two-time thing?"

Quinnie throws a mischievous look my way, before lungeing toward my body, taking the sheet down. She makes me come too, with remarkable ease. Maybe it is because it has been so long since I have had sex; maybe it is because Quinn is the first girl I have been with who is not Brittany; maybe it is because this another new sensation. I have had plenty of those, tonight. I guess if I am embarking on new ground, I am happy that it is with Quinn. Tonight was a revelation, in so many ways. For a brief, fleeting moment, I was able to not think of you. Granted, I was having sex, but still, this was a big step. Quinn was the first person I have slept with since you. And I don't feel guilty at all.

Q holds me in her arms and I return her embrace. We remain like that, just breathing in the silence of the room and of the moment. I know that once we leave this room, we will go back to our lives. Quinn will go back to Yale. I will go back to New York City. We will probably never speak of this ever again. Just because we slept together, our relationship and our friendship will not change. I think it is one of the reasons why I knew it was okay to cross this line with Quinn. I knew that we could cross back after this night was over.

But we've got tonight, Quinn and I. Tomorrow will come soon enough.


End file.
